


All my trust and my truths and my secrets

by Bitterblue



Category: Bitterblue - Kristin Cashore, Seven Kingdoms Trilogy - Kristin Cashore
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue/pseuds/Bitterblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitterblue feels electric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All my trust and my truths and my secrets

**Author's Note:**

> At Nina's request.

Kissing Saf had been like electricity. He had called her Sparks, but she hadn't intended to take it so literally. He had made the nerves in her fingertips sing with the power rushing along them, all conductivity and light. It had made her feel that if she could channel all that energy into something good, she could be a fit ruler for her nation.  
  
Sitting in her office, Bitterblue wonders if she has. It has been many years since she last kissed Saf, or even saw him, and the memories are fonder now. Less caustic. Without him to kiss, the energy  _had_ seemed to pour over, creating and building and fixing her small, broken kingdom. She has been the generator of so much good.   
  
It is Giddon's fault she is thinking of kissing at all, of kissing anybody, because sometimes he turns up and speaks or just smiles and the twist of his mouth has her heart pounding like she is still that eighteen year old girl with stars in her fingertips and glitter on her face. He has been in Bitterblue City for a month, helping her sort through her mother's linens. They have spent their evenings together in her rooms, sitting together with sheets rumpled around them, recording the embroidery. Her desk drawer is neatly lined in sheets with delicate replications of symbolic text, awaiting translation when they have the time and energy to spend. Sitting with Giddon close to her side, their elbows bumping as they each scribbled down lines, Bitterblue had felt warm.  
  
He comes to her that evening, and they eat together quietly. He has council work to do as well while he is in her city, and he recounts it to her over dinner. When they are finished, they sit together on the sofa in her sitting room and begin to work through the steadily decreasing pile of sheets and pillowcases together.   
  
Bitterblue can feel the heat of his leg near hers, acutely aware of the places their hips and knees brush together as they shift in their work. They don't speak much--writing symbols that are not letters takes up their concentration--but their silence is companionable. Comfortable. Giddon is comfortable, even when the suggestion of his leg beside hers fills her with unaccountable warmth.  
  
"Blue, I can't do any more tonight. I'm sorry, I'm still in a foul mood about the lost bribe money." His smile is soft, apologetic when he stops after only an hour of work. Bitterblue touches his arm, just above the elbow.  
  
"No, it's alright."  
  
He frowns a little. She is fascinated by the way his mouth moves. She can't stop looking even though she knows she should. This is not some adolescent's comfort; Giddon is too dear to her to think of him in this way. None of it seems to have stopped her in the months--years--that she has come to realise how dear his face is to her, though. And now he is frowning, and speaking, "You aren't supposed to lie to me." His voice is low. Rough. She would squirm if she didn't know he'd notice.  
  
"It is! It is alright. I understand, Giddon. I promise."  
  
"You don't look like--"  
  
His lips taste faintly of the raspberry tart they had for dessert. Sweet. She didn't mean to be kissing him, but it's happening, and his lips are opening under hers. Surely he means to protest. Bitterblue won't let that happen, pressing forward more urgently. If she can somehow tell him everything she means without speaking a word, that would be better. Easier, certainly. Her whole body thrums with electricity. Perhaps sparks were not only something she could have with Saf.  
  
Giddon pulls himself back, separating them on the sofa. When had they got so close? She had been pressed to his side, and the air is cool without him there now. She can feel the flickering of her nerves everywhere he has touched her, especially her lips. " _Bitterblue_. Lady Queen. I--"  
  
Her face falls. He is distancing himself already. This was a terrible idea. Worse, it wasn't even an idea. It was an impulse built around a fantasy, itself built around years of trust and intimacy because of that trust. She has betrayed his trust. "You  asked me to be honest with you, Giddon. I thought--please don't call me that. Please."  
  
Giddon's fingers touch her cheek briefly before dropping, though Bitterblue isn't certain that her thigh is a much safer place for his hand to rest. "Yes. Yes, alright. But, look, please be sensible. You are the Queen, and you will need to marry soon. It would a political move, I'm sure, but Nash's grandson isn't a bad man. Your other options are still Skye and Raffin. And the council could put together a list of appropriate noblemen. But, Blue, I am  _not one of them_. I haven't been since Randa took all that from me."  
  
She gapes at him before breathing deeply, frowning. "Giddon. I don't actually care about your status in that manner. Nash married a commoner. We have borrowed so much from the Dells, why not this as well?"  
  
He shakes his head. "It would look poorly for you if you chose me."  
  
Bitterblue catches something in his words, and pauses for a moment to gather her thoughts. "You aren't protesting that you wouldn't  want me to choose you. Just that you think I shouldn't."  
  
" _Blue_. Please don't--"  
  
"No! No, Giddon, because you're saying you think you don't deserve me because you don't have a title, not that you don't  _want_ me because you still see me as a child or something like that, which is  _actually_ what I was worried about. Giddon. You have had all my trust and my truths and my secrets for so long, how could you doubt me on this? It  aches not to tell you this truth. I promised you I always would, you just said so yourself, so please. Be honest with  _me_."  
  
He sighs, his thumb moving small circles over her thigh. The feel of it reminds her of the warm, heady feel of his mouth on hers, of how it felt to be pressed to his side. He does not meet her eyes, thinking. She would kill to have Po's Grace at this moment. After ages, he sighs and looks up at her again. "You are right. You are. I am afraid of the repercussions to you, as a monarch and as my friend. But it does not stop me from wanting to touch you, to kiss you. I have kept this a secret from you, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to lose that trust, and I thought--" he laughs, and her heart soars. "I thought if I told you, Blue, that you would think me a dirty old man who cannot be friends with a woman without wanting to marry her."  
  
There is nothing to do but kiss him, then. 


End file.
